


Bad Day to Die

by jesseofthenorth



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Secret Avengers
Genre: Gen, Graphic Description of Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5634796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseofthenorth/pseuds/jesseofthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What a shitty fucking way to die; stabbed by some whacko in a yellow rubber suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Day to Die

**Author's Note:**

> poted in a rush, some errors remain  
> written for H/C Bingo round 6, prompt: lacerations and knife wounds

What a shitty fucking way to die; stabbed by some whacko in a yellow rubber suit.

“Shit! That’s really bleeding” Clint hissed trying to push the gaping edges of the wound together. “Fuck” he muttered to the empty room. “Hurts too” He clamped his hand over it trying to hold some of his blood in, and snapped a quick look out from behind his cover. It was apparently an actual empty room, at least empty of other visible humans. There were a fuck ton of shipping containers though so who knew what was hiding behind any one of them.

  
Clint hunkered down and waited to see what, or who developed. He wasn’t going to bleed to death if he waited to see if the coast was actually clear. Probably. But if he blundered into a bunch of those AIM assholes in his current condition he’d sure be fucked. Clint looked at the fractured remains of his bow lying on the ground at his feet and sighed. He was gonna miss that bow; it had served him well for a long time.

  
Clint settled down as quietly as he could with a hand clamped to his side, back pressed into a wall, and something that passed for a line of sight at his front. Settled in to wait and see what was what. He was not even remotely aware of the moment when his eyes slipped closed.

 

“You’re an idiot” was the first thing he heard, and then the vicious bitch poked at the rip in his side.

“Hey Tash” he whispered.

“Idiot. You don’t have to whisper. I took care of them.”

She pressed gently against his wound and Clint’s hiss was still a whisper. He didn’t have the energy for anything else.  
“Coulson’s coming” she told him as she pressed a fresh bandage over the old one. His wound must have been bad enough she didn’t want to disturb it, much.

“That’s good” he told her and wasn’t sure if he meant Coulson or the fresh bandage. It didn’t matter enough for him to stay conscious and figure it out. He heard brisk footsteps, sturdy leather soles on dirty concrete and let himself go back to the quiet and the darkness. It was okay to be unconscious now; they were both there.He came to again to a jolt of pain that would have left him screaming if he had the energy. All he could manage was a pained groan. He was laying on (in?) something that was moving. Clint tried to tense against the constant motion, Car he thought distantly, cataloging the movement and noise and steady vibration. Another bump and this time the sound he couldn't keep in was closer to a scream. It felt like dying a little bit.

  
“No dying” Coulson said from directly above him and Clint opened his eyes.

He had his head in Coulson’s lap and Coulson’s arms around his shoulder trying to brace him.

“No dying” Coulson said again “Not until I have a chance to properly give you shit for this stunt.” He looked pissed. And like he was trying not to look worried. The last one made Clint nervous, a little.

“Not gonna die” he told Coulson trying to alleviate whatever that expression was on his friends face. “just want to complain. Kinda hurts” he said and earned a snort for his effort.

“Idiot” Coulson said. He sounded almost fond. Clint would take it. He closed his eyes and waited to be in a hospital.

 

Hospitals sucked. Seriously, Boring, bad food, weirdly noisy and impossible to sleep in. Clint just wanted to get the hell out.

"NO" Coulson said from the doorway.

Clint jumped a little because Coulson was a preternaturally sneaky son of a bitch.

"No what?" Clint asked trying out his best innocent face. Thst earned him a derisive snort.

" No. Not getting out of bed. Not sneaking out of this hospital. Not going anywhere, until the docs clear you."

"But-"

"But nothing Barton! Gut wound, okay? I know for a fact that you are not actually an idiot. So stop doing your best impression of one and wait to be discharged."

Clint scowled and him and folded his arms (carefully) across his chest.

"Please?" Coulson asked thereby winning the argument.

"Fine. But I want something to eat that doesn’t look and taste like its already been chewed! And I want a damned cup of coffee! This headache is fucking killing me"

"You have a headache again?" Coulson asked looking concerned.

"Not again STILL. It's a frigging caffeine headache and no one will listen to me! I went from drinking a pot of coffee a day to none! Of course I've got a headache." He was almost shouting by the time he was done that particular rant. Caffeine withdrawal was a bitch. It made him cranky as shit and the headache didn't help either.

"Okay, Okay. I'll talk to the doctor. Maybe one cup wouldn't hurt."

20 minutes later Clint was nursing some half caff caramel monstrosity from Starbucks, with his eyes closed and pure bliss mixing with the caffeine in his bloodstream. At least the caffeine wouldn't make his bruises any worse.


End file.
